Mad As Rabbits
by ComesFromCorn
Summary: Edith and Alice post Wonderland. ...Or something like that anyway.
1. Prologue

Six months ago, Alice came back from a long Sunday afternoon spent alone in the garden.

This in and of itself was not an unusual occurrence. In fact, it was a weekly constitutional and would have been more alarming had her sister chosen to forsake this tradition even if it had become a deeply somber, solitary endeavor.

But this particular Sunday afternoon had been…unique, shrouded in confusion and overall tinted with strangeness. Alice had come back she seeming...younger…somehow and in ways that were difficult to pinpoint or describe. Not in her mannerisms or habits, which were as cool and practical as ever, but something about her _looked_ younger. Perhaps it was the innocent sparkle in her eyes or the roundness of her face, Edith couldn't place it, but the strangeness lingered and shaped the space around her.

And yet, Edith remembered being strangely...relieved to see her.

She could remember throwing open the front door and rushing down the path as Alice strolled toward the house, the light ruffles of her dress rippling slightly in breeze. It was her favorite, the blue one with the gold designs along the sleeves and skirt. Had she been wearing that when she left?

Edith nearly collided with her sister, stumbling to a sharp halt in front of her and roughly grasping her wrists. "Where have you _been_?!"

Alice blinked at her innocently, confused and a little surprised by her outburst. "I'm...sorry, Edith. I fell asleep in the garden." Her brows furrowed in concern as she eyed her younger sister for a moment before continuing, "It's only been a few hours."

Edith's own brows creased in thought and confusion as she realized Alice was right. The sun had not yet touched the horizon, and the heavens were still crystalline blue with only the faintest streaks of pink and orange beginning to smear themselves across the sky.

So why did it _feel_ like her sister had been gone for a very long time?


	2. Chapter 1

She was talking to the rabbit again.

Edith rolled her eyes skyward and bit her lip to keep it from curling, then reached for her water glass to further hide the sneer that threatened to paint itself across her face anyway. Not that Alice would react at all, she never did. Even so, her etiquette lessons skulked around the back of her mind reprimanding her for her rudeness.

She inhaled deeply through her nose and pressed the cool glass against her lips a moment too long before tilting it slightly to sip at the clean liquid, eyeing her sister surreptitiously through narrowed lids as she chattered on about her day. Oh for the love of-

As usual, the girls had pantomimed the intention of waiting for their father to get home before sitting down to dinner as their etiquette lessons had long ago insisted was polite. And Father had, in turn, pantomimed the intention of being there to wait for. At one time the gesture, however one-sided, had been genuine, and, on some level at least, Edith supposed it probably still was. But that had been years ago; this dance was a familiar one with predictable steps.

And so, whatever words had been uttered or promises made by either side, seven o'clock sharp had found both the Liddell girls seated across from each other at a table with chairs for five set for two, each knowing perfectly well that it would be hours yet before the stranger they called Father returned from work. Assuming, that is, he bothered to come home at all. It was hardly uncommon for the obnoxious hours of the morning to find him hunched uncomfortably over his desk, too exhausted to stay, but far more reluctant to leave and turn toward that big house so full of ghosts.

Alice would, of course, make up a third plate, long after she thought Edith had retired for the night and wouldn't see. She would cover it tightly with foil so it wouldn't dry and place it in the oven to keep it warm. There would be a note, short but sweet, apologizing for missing him this night and hopeful to see him tomorrow. The message would conclude with two names, though only one set of hands would touch the paper. Only one daughter still tried to believe them a family.

And this stranger they called Father must slip in at some point because in the morning there would be another note in a different hand, moved by habit, or guilt, or perhaps warmed for a moment by Alice's persistent thoughtfulness; the girls would never know and likely wouldn't ask. An apology for his absence the night before and one more promise none of those involved expected him to keep.

Echoes of an old song. Familiar steps.

That did, however, leave her alone with Alice. …And the rabbit.

_Even _that_ shouldn't be such an ordeal_, Edith admitted silently as she absentmindedly pushed a bite of cold pork chop around her plate. Indeed it shouldn't have been, _wouldn't _have been half a year ago. Instead it would have been a familiar discontent that snagged and prodded at both sides but nonetheless offered the mild comfort of routine, jarring and felt in its absence. Just another step that had been memorized long ago.

But then Alice had gone into the garden that Sunday and never came back…

"-in town."

…Except…she had…

"Edith?"

She could still feel the roughness of the stone walkway against her bare feet as she rushed down the path, relief sweet on her tongue and hot in her veins. And Alice was _there_, surrounded by that odd impression of youth that sparkled in her big teal eyes and glowed as a slight flush in her cheeks highlighting the rounded contours and angles of her face. It danced and spun in the space around her, even now rousing that memory of the odd sensation that Edith had not seen her sister in…she didn't know how long.

"Eeediiiiiith…"

Her sister's voice literally jerked her out of her thoughts. Her fingers gripped her glass just a bit too tightly as she jumped, inhaling once in surprise and straightening involuntarily in her chair. She blinked as her name registered in her mind, the playfulness around the drawn out vowels and the amusement in Alice's laughing eyes indicating that her wandering attention had been noted and missed.

"You doing okay over there? You were staring at that water like it held the meaning of life or something."

Clearing her throat to regain some sense of balance, she raised the glass to her lips again and sipped at the contents she'd evidently been probing for their secrets using the motion to hide the rose petals blooming across her cheeks. "I'm fine, I just thought maybe you were waiting for the rodent to answer," the snideness in her voice and sudden slouch in her shoulders fueled by the combination of embarrassment at being caught wool-gathering and her psychological _need _to somehow wound her sister finally beating years' worth of teaching into submission. But Alice _laughed_ of all things, as if Edith had somehow managed to make a joke she wasn't in on.

"Very funny, Edith," she chuckled good-naturedly holding the rabbit up under its forepaws to face her and lightly nuzzling the soft fur of its ears. "He's a rabbit, not exactly known for their higher brain function," she deadpanned suddenly, her voice taking on a sarcastic almost cynical edge as she pinned it with an oddly dry stare. It blinked innocently at her before stretching one leg to paw at her cheek.

Okay, even Edith had to admit that was pretty adorable.

But the strangeness of the moment had already seeped and soaked into the air around them, filling the space with an awkwardness Edith could _feel_ pressing and stifling her. And she seemed to be the only one struggling with the weight of it.

"Yes, well, with the way you were going on, I thought maybe you were expecting it to."

"I may go on," Alice conceded, the playfulness returning to her voice, the rabbit still at eye level as she allowed its twitching nose to nuzzle her own, "But I assure you, to date, he's yet to return the favor."

It wasn't the familiar cynicism that clashed with Alice's apparently happy attitude, or that strange aura of youth surrounding her that Edith still couldn't quite place. It wasn't even the queer sureness that her elder sister had indeed been _gone _even now shadowing her thoughts and warping her perception_. _Though all of these things certainly added to the tangled, confused emotions that built and conflicted inside her.

No, Edith found what truly irked her was her sister _trying _so hard. Even before Mother's funeral, when Edith had finally recognized the glacial movement circulating through her sister's veins, she and Alice had not been particularly close. Not like Alice and Lorina had been or even Lorina and herself. Close enough in age to be companions, but too far apart to enforce the bond, yet not far enough apart for Edith to look to Alice as some distant figure of refinement and maturity, as something she should strive to be. No, Edith and Alice had been siblings, not friends. And after…

Well, there had been no "after", not really. Edith had wrapped herself safely in the fire of her anger, the heat of her resentment and passion, and Alice, frozen and distant as she was, couldn't touch her and didn't even try. A muddy, boggy fissure oozed between them and not even Lorina's warmth and gentle patience could cross the expanse without sinking in a patch of quicksand.

But it had worked. Edith could have ended the conversation with her casual resentment. Alice, eyes rolling, aloof and distant, would have let her. And if neither party was actually happy, at least both were comfortable in their melancholy.

Edith had no idea why Alice had suddenly decided to rock the delicate balance of their relationship.

Exhaustion hit her like a hind kick from a work horse, with little warning and enough force to knock her off her feet. The circles in which her thoughts had chased themselves seemed to have sapped her energy and resignation uncurled inside her, stretching out across her body and settling into her bones as she realized she just didn't have it in her to ward off her sister's increasingly frequent attempts at sibling bonding. "What did you want, Alice?" she sighed.

"Nothing terribly important," she replied, almost absentmindedly. The rabbit was raised above her head now, her face tilted toward the ceiling as its paws flailed and kicked erratically grasping for purchase against the air. The movement, however, seemed more energetic, more animated and excited with the simple joy of playing with its mistress than any genuine discomfort or fear at the suspension. "I just asked if you'd heard that the festival is opening this weekend."

"Um..." Edith's brows creased slightly in thought and she pressed her chin into her open palm as she sifted through her more recent memories. She did stumble over a vague recollection of half-heard snippets of conversation involving Spring, with the capitol _S_, and flowers. Maybe something about dancers and jesters, or carnival colors perhaps? God, she really needed to start paying more attention. "I think I knew it was in town at least."

"Well, anyway, it opens on Saturday," she stated only mildly distracted. The rabbit was tucked comfortably under chin, still and happy as her fingers gently danced up and down its ears. "And I thought it would be fun to go check it out. You know, before the town council gets hold of it and the workers get bored and run off."

A light _thud_ rippled through the near silence of the room too big for the two of them, the dull sting radiating through the tips of her fingers as her hand dropped against the table, surprise slacking her joint for a moment. Her eyes grew wide in disbelief and distaste at what must be her sister's unrecognizable sense of humor. She took a moment to remind herself to blink. "Are you _serious_?"

"Um yes?" Alice replied cocking her head curiously. "I mean, honestly, I can't remember the last time this town even had a festival…" though she obviously tried as her voice trailed off and her eyes focused somewhere else entirely and fogged over with memory.

"Alice, that's the _point_."

"…What's the point?"

"We're not…" she gestured absentmindedly, groping blindly for the words to properly convey her protest, "Not _kids_ anymore There are expectations for us, responsibilities and obligations. We can't afford to be so childish." She leaned forward, the peculiar feeling of bored agitation pulling a huff from her lungs as her chin hit her palm once again. "Honestly, you're the last person I should have to explain this to."

"There's nothing childish about it," Alice insisted, "It's a traditional event designed to celebrate the coming of Spring that's over a century old and, for one reason or another, hasn't been held in this town for at least a decade. You could turn it into a history project if it makes you feel better." The dryness faded from her voice and her tone grew warmer, "And even if it were, there's nothing childish about relaxing and having fun every once in a while."

"I have to…I have to practice," she countered lamely. As excuses go, she could have done worse. Her first love was her violin, and she was nothing if not faithful. Four hours of every day were devoted to the rise and swell of melody, the complexity of rhythm and beat. She'd bled for those strings, fingers stiff and swollen, and such a small, small sacrifice to breathe life into the static sheets of music. Still, she knew it was brittle and full of holes. Four hours was four hours. A day had twenty more.

As expected, the excuse simply earned her a raised eyebrow, "Of course, I wouldn't suggest blowing off your violin session, not at all. But you're not going to practice _all day_. We can take an hour or so to visit the festival."

She thought to argue. There were words there, hot and acrid on the tip of her tongue, spiteful and sharp and just waiting to be given form. But she saw that _gleam _in her sister's eyes.

The rabbit was seated in her lap now, the tips of its ears just barely visible over the table, and Alice's hands must have been folded politely over its back. But her shoulders were squared and her jaw was set, those big teal eyes narrowed ever so slightly in determination as they locked firmly with her own. Persistent was the polite term to describe her sister, stubborn was more accurate, and Edith knew that look. It was as straightforward and blunt as Alice herself, proclaiming simply that Alice was _going_ to get her way. The only variable would be the amount of time and effort her opponent was willing to waste in denial of the inevitable.

Edith just really wanted this conversation to be over.

"We should head out early and get it over with," she mumbled eyes returning to the remains of the meal she had no intention of finishing, though she picked up her fork to prod distractedly at half a stock of asparagus.

Alice's chair _screeched _softly against the floor as she stood, her plate and utensils clattering quietly against each other as she gathered her table-setting together, evidently satisfied with the conversation. Edith wondered how such soft, mundane sounds could seem so loud when the silence was so deafening, the emptiness of the room so concentrated and stifling. This table, this room, this _house_ so big, _too_ big for the two of them, and yet felt so small, piled and cluttered with too many memories. Too many ghosts.

The fine hairs on the back of her neck raised and she stiffened as Alice's long tresses tickled the skin of her arm and teased the sensitive tip of her nose the gentle pressure of her lips against her scalp both pleasant and unwelcome.

A sisterly kiss to the top of her head, as if _she _were the childish one…

"It'll be fun," Alice promised cheerfully, teal eyes glinting and playful once again as she flashed that smile so full of secrets. "You'll see." Her footsteps echoed and bounced brightly as she practically skipped toward the kitchen, a silence so thick and solid following in their wake.

The room felt like a grave.


	3. Chapter 2

At least she wasn't talking to the rabbit. Right now.

Edith allowed her eyes to roll this time as her closed lids concealed the snide gesture anyway, and if Alice couldn't be bothered to dwell than neither could she. Besides, this annoyance was a feathery and fleeting thing; a knee-jerk reaction born of habit rather than any genuine irritation. And, as it stood, she had no place to hold such negativity at the moment. Like Peter Pan's fairies, there simply wasn't room for the excess emotion inside her; not when she felt this _happy_.

Her heart was already skipping excitedly. Beats trailed one another just a little too closely, raising her pulse and warming her blood. Her nerves grew heated and attentive as the fine hairs raised across the back of her neck and her ears perked in anticipation. Fingers danced lovingly up and down the neck, the coolness wonderfully sharp against their lightly calloused tips, before settling into their proper position, muscle memory bending and arranging them with little input from her mind. Lips quirked marginally in contentment and she straightened her spine as she raised her right hand. The picture she presented must seem so stiff and formal, but it was familiar, and she was comfortable.

She held the pose for a moment, statue still and hardly breathing as she counted the beats in her head. _…Two…Three…Four…_

And then she moved. One long smooth motion followed by a second sharper downward pull as she gently coaxed the sleeping wood awake.

And it began to sing for her.

Sad and slow, beautiful in its melancholy, the music floated and flowed through the air, pooling and spreading outward further and further like ripples on a pond. It wrapped itself around her and she breathed it in, sharp and cold like winter. It hovered inside her, settling into her bones fizzing and tingling as if she'd swallowed the stars.

The tempo increased, the beat becoming more vivid as the chord changes came faster and the melody grew more complicated. Her fingers, graceful and practiced, danced over the strings, and the strokes of the bow became sharper, more angled here, flat lines there. Three short, quick strokes, one long, languid pull. She moved with the intensity of it, a deep, elegant dip from the waist, bowing in deference to the harmony in the air. She swayed slowly, graceful and poised. A quick, refined pirouette sent her skirts swishing and rustling in the light spring breeze, the soft sounds melding and harmonizing with the sorrowful notes she coaxed from the violin. The music inside her twisted and moved; she was merely its vessel.

Her bow moved once more. One long, slow stroke. Her fingers still and firm, holding the strings in place and electing one final note, low and hushed like a sigh. In this moment, as the world held a collective breath, she was utterly and completely alive.

"You were a little too quick on that last chord."

Instinctively, her features contorted, deep lines furrowing her forehead as her eyebrows pressed together over lids that suddenly tightened and pinched at their corners. Teeth clenched over the words lined up on her tongue, soured with spite and hot with passion just waiting to be given _voice_…

But even this rage, molten hot and passionate, however, was halfhearted and reflexive. Another knee-jerk reaction that was less about her sister's actual critique and more about the fact that, well, she _right_ after all.

Alice had fingers too short and graceless to properly manipulate the strings. Hands that were too strong and sure to feel the subtle vibrations resonating along the neck and base and flowing back through hard calloused tips not sensitive enough to _read_ the instrument. She lacked the raw talent for a master to sculpt as well as the sheer passion and desire necessary to compensate for her lack of natural skill. But this was _Alice_ after all, and she could win a staring contest with her reflection should the mood strike her. And, in any case, the interest hadn't lain with the violin, or the craft at all for that matter; it had always been in _Edith_.

So, with the patented Alice blend of blind determination grounded in realism, her sister had launched her attack from the unexpected corner of the local library. Hours had been lost holed up in the back room of that public building or locked in her own room wading through a massive sea of ink and glue surrounded by the light, papery smell of the written word until Edith almost fancied she could see music notes dancing across her sister's strained and tired eyes.

In a matter of months, Alice had managed to teach herself from a wall of books concepts it had taken Edith's classmates a parade of instructors and a number of years to understand. Some with only marginal success.

She was no master, not by any stretch of the imagination, and likely never would be even if she did get it into her head to take some formal lessons. But while she was perhaps still unable to connect the notes with the instrument itself, she had a _good_ ear and _was_ able to connect the written music with the active music of the violin. Even if Edith had been completely unaware of the small flaw in her performance, she would have taken Alice at her word.

So much work. All of that effort expended immersing herself into… what could be considered a subculture…that she wasn't even interested in, just so she could spend a few hours a day with her younger sister. Converse on an intellectual level about something that she loved. Edith released a mental sigh felling spoiled and ungrateful as her mind flipped through the faces of her classmates and friends, each talented and dedicated in his/her own right, wondering how many of them would _kill_ to have this kind attention from an older sibling.

But then again…Even as children, the relationship between Edith and her sisters had been distant. They hadn't avoided each other per say, but, while they often enjoyed each other's company, no one had exactly gone out of her way to spend time with each other either.

Lorina, warm-hearted and gentle, was, of course, wonderfully pleasant to be around. But she was so much older and more mature than Edith, having already outgrown many of the activities her youngest sister still thoroughly enjoyed. She was kind and soft-tempered and always happy enough to join her play, but it was obvious she found such games tiresome and her gestures, while always made with the best of intentions, were still made more out of an effort to humor the younger girl than any real interest in participating. So Edith had always viewed her eldest sister with distant eyes. She was a role model, a guardian figure situated somewhere far away; a picture of maturity and refinement held in the highest regard and something she hoped to one day emulate. But she was not a _playmate_.

Alice had been…different, more approachable and more interested. And, admittedly, Edith had often liked playing with her older sister. While not mean-spirited, the second Liddell girl could often be cynical and a little brutal in her honesty, but she was also inventive and patient with a marvelous mischievous streak so out of place in a girl her age. If she wasn't perfect, at least she was colorful with strong viewpoints and a vivid imagination that she was always ready to share. Her words were bright and crisp, painting vivid pictures across thin air, and she always told the _best_ stories.

There were lines in the sand, clear and thick; snug little boxes Edith could see shimmering round the edges when she looked hard enough. Lorina was warm. Alice was _fun_.

Such moments, however, were still few and far between, laced together with huge gaps of empty space where the paths of the younger Liddell sisters had failed to cross. While closer in age and temperament, Alice and Edith simply had little else in common and so rarely sought each other out for companionship.

Together but separate; that was the best way to describe their childhood relationships, Edith supposed. There had always been something of a rift there, deep cracks in the dry ground before fire had gone to war with ice, but it was a familiar space, and each was comfortable settled on her own side. Together, but separate…

So, Alice's sudden efforts to try bridge that gap were tinted with a strangeness all their own, and Edith simply didn't _understand_. But she also wasn't quite sure what questions to ask. The effort Alice expended certainly leaned toward the extreme, but the actual gestures themselves were not. She just wanted to wander around the festival together this weekend. To sit on the porch and listen to her play.

But, if for no other reason than because it came from _Alice_, something about every action, every move in her direction felt…off. Invasive and almost desperate.

Her brow, wrinkled and arched with the mock offense, softened as her lungs swelled, expanding until they pressed against her ribs, twingeing slightly with the pressure. The back of her throat ached and stung as the deep gulp of air scratched against its sensitive walls flooding her body with its coolness. She held it for a moment, just until her chest felt tight and crowded, straining against the light fabric of her top as she tried to bring some semblance of order into her chaotic thoughts. And then in one big gush, she breathed out.

_It's almost funny_, she thought sardonically, _the ways_ _things change. …And the ways they don't._

Funny? Was that the really the word she wanted? She supposed she could see a certain sense of humor in things if she looked at them from the right angle. Not the sort that made her want to laugh exactly, but a kind of irony that choked a gurgle of snickers from her lips none the less. Humorless and hollow, it clattered around inside her mouth banging against her teeth as she exhaled, leaving a strange bitterness smeared across her tongue in its wake.

"Edith?"

It was her sister's voice, that soft tenor of concern vibrating through the single syllable of her name that snagged her consciousness and dragged her attention outward once again. And yet…as she blinked away the glare of the late afternoon sun, the first vision that swam and blurred into focus was…white.

Phrases like 'white as snow' are cliché for a reason. Overused but visceral, they invoke strong images across the inner eye. They would also be completely inaccurate. Edith had seen her fair share of the winter months and knew that snow, even newly fallen, was always flecked through with the underlying earthy browns and dead greens of the ground over which it lay. Or, if one wanted to be obstinate about it, the places where the snow had fallen thicker, too deep to find the hard grass and frozen mud, were always awash with bits of iridescent color. As if a prism had exploded and the lovely reflective dust had blown out across the ground.

No, there was nothing 'snowy white' about Alice's rabbit. It was as if that glossy white coat had simply swallowed the other colors and no further embellishment was needed. _White_ was the description and there was nothing left to say.

An ear flicked. Edith could make out the complex latticework of veins and capillaries woven throughout the pale pink smear, translucent and nearly glowing as it caught a stream of late afternoon sun. It was settled in the grass near the porch, a fluffy ball of cotton caught in the emerald and forest hues braided through the mild green of the lawn, lush and thick with the early spring rains. Its nose, a little patch of pink velvet pasted over the tip of its _white_ muzzle, twitched adorably over the top quarter of a carrot that had been occupying the majority of its attention for the better part of an hour.

If she opened a dictionary and looked up the word 'innocence', she was fairly certain she would see an illustration of this very scene beside it.

And yet, there was something...

But _something_ was ambiguous, hazy and difficult to pin down in her thoughts. Never mind the fact that the last thing she wanted was to be caught daydreaming by her aloof and dreamy sister _again_. That thought firmly in mind, Edith quickly snapped her attention back toward Alice who was currently occupying the lower porch steps not two feet away.

"It's nothing." The words were too quick, the pitch a touch too high. "I know, my instructor said the same thing this morning." A smile forced its way across her mouth, and while she was certain it appeared just as stilted and false as it felt, she held it in place.


	4. Interlude

Edith's mind wondered relatively aimlessly as she made her way down the hall. Thoughts skipped and skidded smoothly through her head, acknowledging and discarding topics before she'd really considered them in that vague, distracted way one does sometimes when nothing pressing or interesting can be persuaded to present itself.

Her destination had been tentatively identified as the kitchen, the odd _itching_ in her teeth demanding something sweet. Though, 'something sweet' was horribly vague and she wasn't certain they even had what she wanted in the house…whatever that was.

Alice was seated on the edge of her bed, long almond strands chaotically draped around her small frame, frizzy and damp with no ribbon to hold them in place. The soft cream of her light night gown pooled around her legs matching nicely with the pale blue of her bedclothes, one thin strap loose and sliding off her shoulder slightly as she leaned forward over something in her hand.

Whatever she held was small, enough to be hidden in the palm of her hand. A piece of jewelry maybe? The long, delicate chain that daggled from between her fingers seemed to indicate as such.

The human eye misses little, less than most people think in fact. What it actually _sees_, however, depends on what one happens to be _looking_ at.

So, while Edit's eye caught and cataloged all these things as she passed the open door, they were hardly anything out of the ordinary and so did nothing engage her bored mind thus failing to turn her focus or warrant her attention.

_**Thud!**_

_Taptaptiptappitterpattertip!_

That certainly did.

She took two quick steps backward and turned to peer through the doorway.

It was a…pocket watch? Yes, her father used to have one, probably still did somewhere, though she was fairly certain he didn't carry it anymore. His was a decent sized watch, not huge but large enough to read easily, colored gold with a short chain made of big, rounded links.

This one was smaller and more delicate, obviously designed for a woman. The silvery metal was thinner and lighter, more eye-catching and attractive.

It was also in pieces.

Tiny gears and silvery bits of metal littered the floor near the far wall against which her sister had evidently thrown it. The outer lid, the only piece still clinging to the thin rope of tiny metal links, had flipped and rolled and landed on its side, the angle giving Edith a good view of the pretty spray of flowers engraved on its face. She must've seen that spray a dozen times, all lined up neatly in row over a long, fuzzy cloth…

A woman sold them every weekend at the local Farmer's Market in town. They were cheaply made and clearly designed for fashion rather than function, prone to a short work-life, assuming it actually kept time in the first place. But they were cute and popular among younger girls, none of whom bought them for their usefulness. They were also cheaply sold and easily replaced…Really, it was no surprise Alice had managed to throw it with enough force to destroy it.

But Alice stood stock-still near the bed, some bizarre instinct driving her to her feet before freezing her in place. Both hands covered her mouth as she stared at the shrapnel of the broken watch, bright eyes wide with horror as if she couldn't believe what she'd just done. As if she'd done something _unforgivable_.

A wordless sound of grief that left Edith trembling and nearly choking on a sob of her own forced its way through her fingers as she turned and collapsed to her knees against the bed in movement so fluid it was almost graceful.

And suddenly the rabbit was in her arms. Edith hadn't even seen the little ball of cotton settled so glaringly against that wide expanse of blue. But Alice scooped it up and tucked it under her chin, clutching it so tightly Edith almost feared she'd strangle the poor creature. Again, however, the rabbit didn't seem distressed, simply allowing its mistress to hug it, even pawing at her cheek as if to console her.

She was mumbling something against its fur. Edith strained her ears, "_I'm sorry_," it sounded like. "_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."_

Sorry for what?

Just as Edith got it into her head to enter the room, to try her hand at comforting her sister, Alice seemed to pull herself together.

One breath.

Two.

She pulled herself away from the rabbit and stood, one more breath pulled so deeply, Edith could hear the gush, before settling the rabbit gently against the pillows almost like a child does her favorite stuffed animal. Soft fingers stroked its ears, the action absentminded but loving, as she opened the drawer to the small wooden nit stand beside the bed.

She pulled out another watch. Fingers more quick and nimble than Edith could ever remember seeing carefully adjusted the tiny hands and closed the lid. She pressed it against her chest and closed her eyes.

Held it close and listened to it tick.

...It's called _Mad As Rabbits_, not _Well-Adjusted As Rabbits_.


End file.
